RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)7 — The Prodigy and His Noona
The months following that first, lopsided friendly match bled together in a steady rhythm of practice and quiet study.
Spring unfurled into the hazy, humid warmth of early summer in Seoul. My routine remained largely unchanged: relentless drills under the strengthening sun, the familiar weight of textbooks in the evenings, and the occasional, obligatory playtime with Su Ah, whose analytical curiosity about my skills seemed to grow, and Mia, whose interactions with me felt increasingly… unpredictable.
My parents, particularly Yeong Gu, were ecstatic. He'd leveraged his connections, that glorious man.
Eventually, I had a date.
The FC Seoul Youth Academy tryouts were scheduled for late July. The gateway to serious football in this country, the first real step back onto a path I knew intimately, was finally within sight.
It felt weird retracing my steps, climbing a mountain I had already seen the summit of.
However, this time my all time goal would be considerably harder. Winning a World Cup with Brazil was one thing—doing it with South Korea?
Yeah, there was a lot of work to do.
One particularly sweltering afternoon, after drilling solo for an hour on the patch of lawn behind our house, I finally decided to call it quits and headed inside. My shirt was plastered on my sweaty back, and my muscles sang with fatigue; I'd been at it quite intensively these days.
Nothing too extreme since my body was still developing, but at least I was making damn sure it was developing well.
Mia was on the living room floor, magazine open but forgotten in her lap. Her head was propped on her hand, her gaze distant, fixed on the shifting patterns of light filtering through the blinds.
The hum of the A/C was all that could be heard.
I walked past her and towards the fridge. My hands were already reaching for a cold bottle of water when I heard the sound of her shifting position.
"Done pretending you're Elepé for the day?" She asked, not looking up immediately. Her tone held the usual teasing edge, but lacked some of its usual bite. Quite unusual, to be honest.
'Elepé?' Oh right, him. This world's 'supposedly' best football player in history.
I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. "Elepé played in a different era, Noona. The game has evolved." I took a long drink, observing her. She finally looked up, and her gaze lingered a moment too long, sweeping over me from my sweaty hair down to my grass-stained shorts. It wasn't hostile, not exactly, but it felt… analytical.
"Right." She said slowly, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the magazine cover. "Always the expert. So, Mr. Evolved Footballer, are you actually going to make it into that fancy academy thing dad keeps bragging about?"
"That's the objective." I replied, toweling off my face to reveal a slight smile. "Confidence is high."
"Confidence is always high with you." Mia retorted, but again, the sharpness felt blunted.
"Is it so wrong to be confident in one's abilities?" I asked, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watching her carefully. Her behavior had been odd lately; not the usual teasing or competitive jabs, but something more contemplative.
Was that typical sisterly behavior? Was she still jealous about my success?
She shrugged, looking away again. "No, it's just weird. Like, you have this… aura. You're seven. Shouldn't you be playing with toy cars and making mud pies or something?"
"Are mud pies a common childhood activity?" I asked, genuinely curious.
She rolled her eyes, exasperation breaking through the thoughtful mask. "That's not the point, Jae-il. The point is, you're weird."
"Ah." I nodded, understanding. "Weird in a good way or a bad way?"
"There's a good way?" She snorted, but the corners of her lips betrayed a smile.
"I'd like to think so." I said, taking another sip. "Otherwise, why would you be talking to me right now?"
"Maybe I'm trying to figure you out." She suggested, her tone almost conspiratorial.
"Am I really that complex, Noona?"
She paused, her gaze locking with mine. "You're a seven-year-old boy who plays football like a pro, reads textbooks for fun, and keeps a training schedule stricter than our dad's work calendar." She leaned back on her hands, the magazine sliding off her lap. "Yeah, I'd say you're pretty complex, Jae-il."
I smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through me. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You would." Mia said, shaking her head with a sigh that was more theatrical than weary.
"What's gotten into you lately, Noona?" I asked, crossing my arms over the counter, the now empty bottle dangling from one hand. "You've been… quieter, less boisterous. Less Mia."
She raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Less Mia?"
"You know." I gestured broadly. "Not as many complaints about my 'showboating' or the lack of attention I'm giving you." I tilted my head, a small playful smirk playing on my lips. "It's almost like you might… miss me."
Her face contorted into a myriad of emotions, each vying for dominance: indignation, embarrassment, denial. But she didn't shout or storm away. Instead, she took a steadying breath, her eyes narrowing. "Don't be ridiculous. I just… want to know what makes you tick, that's all. You're my little brother, after all. It's my job to figure you out before anyone else does."
"Ah." I nodded. "So it's a big sisterly concern then?"
"Exactly." She agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Purely sisterly. And out of familial curiosity."
"Of course." I said, straightening up from the counter. "Then, in the spirit of fostering better sibling relations, why don't you join me for a session tomorrow? You might develop an affection for football yet. And, it might give you some more insight into what makes me… tick." I mimicked her earlier gesture.
She stared at me, her face a battle between the immediate denial I could see brewing and a curiosity that was clearly getting the better of her. After a beat, she sighed. "Fine. But don't expect me to run around chasing a ball in the sun all day. I'll watch. Maybe offer some… constructive criticism."
I laughed. "I would expect nothing less from you, Noona."
Mia watched me leave.
xXx
Mia's POV:
Summer—sweltering heat notwithstanding—had brought with it a strange kind of calm. The house was quieter, the days lazier, and her parents were less frantic about schedules and schoolwork.
She found herself with more time on her hands than she'd ever had before, and her thoughts often drifted to her younger brother.
Jae-il was... different. Always had been. Not in a creepy or scary way, just in a way that made her look twice.
Where she had always been about the drama, the attention, the social politics of school and home, he seemed to navigate a different world entirely. He was quiet, studious, and incredibly focused. Su Ah was quite like that as well, but that little twerp at least behaved her age.
She didn't think it was the football. Sure, he was good—better than good—but it wasn't the sport that made him… him. It was something else, something deeper. Maybe it was in the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, and even the way he looked at her sometimes.
It was unnerving. It was interesting.
And it bothered her.
'Don't think too much about it.'
For her mental sanity, Mia had tried to follow that advice, to dismiss the nagging questions that Jae-il seemed to conjure up in her. But it was like trying to ignore a puzzle with a missing piece; her mind kept coming back to it, prodding at it, trying to make sense of it.
And it didn't help that Jae-il was everywhere she turned—on the lawn in front of her, in the family room reading, or just being that quiet, observant presence at the dinner table.
So, she'd decided to do something about it. To figure him out, understand what made him so different, and why it was so important to her. And the best way to do that? Well, she'd just have to spend more time with him, wouldn't she?
That's how she found herself outside the next afternoon, watching as Jae-il went through his warm-up routine.
The sun was already high, baking the grass and turning the air into a warm, sticky soup. She hadn't even been out there for ten minutes, yet her skin was already glistening with sweat. How he managed to run around in this heat for so long was beyond her.
He'd offered her a ball to join him, but she'd declined. "Just here to observe, remember?" She'd said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and finding a shaded spot under a tree. "Don't let me interrupt your... training."
Jae-il tilted his head, smiling slightly. "That won't do, Noona. What's the point of you being here if you're not participating?"
She lifted an eyebrow, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. "Participating in what? Your quest to melt into a puddle in the middle of our lawn?"
He laughed, the sound light and genuine. It was a rare sound from Jae-il, usually so stoic and serious. She found herself smiling in response, a reflex she couldn't quite help. "No, no, nothing that drastic. But you did say you wanted to understand me better, right? How will you do that sitting under a tree?"
Mia huffed, crossing her arms and looking at him skeptically. "And what, exactly, do you have in mind?"
Jae-il's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief that made Mia both curious and a bit wary. He gestured towards the open field in front of them. "How about a challenge? Let's see if you can take the ball from me."
Her eyes widened a fraction. "What? You want me to... play with you?"
He nodded. "It'll be fun. And you might even learn a thing or two."
She scoffed, but her lips were already curving into a grin. "Alright, football prodigy, you're on. But remember, I'm not one of those kids you humiliated the other day. I won't go down so easily." She pushed off the tree and started towards him, a new kind of energy in her stride.
'Hmph! You brat, I'll show you!'
Mia turned her nose up, her smile as haughty as she could manage.
Jae-il's smile widened as he watched her approach, the ball nestled comfortably at his feet. "We'll see about that, Noona. Ready?"
"Bring it." She replied, her stance shifting as she prepared to defend.
A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face, but she brushed it away, her focus entirely on Jae-il and the ball he was effortlessly maneuvering.
Then she charged, intending to sweep the ball away with a quick, decisive move.
But Jae-il was quicker, his body and the ball moving as if they were one. The ball darted left, and by the time she adjusted, he was already past her. She turned, a curse on her lips as she lunged for the ball again. But again, he was too fast, too agile, and he slipped away, leaving her grasping at thin air.
After a few more failed attempts, she stood there, panting, her hands on her knees, and a look of utter disbelief on her face. "What... how are you... this isn't fair!"
Jae-il had barely broken a sweat. "Not fair? Thought you were better than those kids I humiliated." He teased, gently tapping the ball with his foot.
She straightened up, her chest still heaving slightly. "You've had your fun. Now give me that stupid ball." She demanded, pointing at the sphere still firmly under his control.
"Come and get it." He replied, his voice carrying a note of challenge.
Mia's eyes narrowed.
Sweat poured down her face, stinging her eyes and soaking her clothes, but she kept on, fueled by an inner fire that refused to be extinguished, either by the scorching sun or by Jae-il's infuriating skill with that thing.
She had long foregone grace and dignity and simply threw herself at the ball with all the fervor of an enraged bull.
But each time, she was left in the dirt, or on her back, or flat on her face, the ball always just out of reach.
At one point, she thought she had him. She saw an opening, a sliver of a chance, and lunged. Her hand brushed the smooth surface of the ball, her fingertips just touching it. Victory flashed in her eyes.
Then, in a movement so swift and fluid it seemed almost impossible, Jae-il spun away. The ball, that infernal, traitorous ball, stayed with him.
'How the heck does he do that?!'
Exhausted, she finally flopped down onto the grass, her hair spread out like a dark halo. "You're impossible." She huffed, her breaths coming in deep, ragged gasps. "You're not human."
Jae-il approached her, his shadow falling over her prone figure. "Just a little bit of practice, Noona. You're not so bad yourself."
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in a glare that had no real bite.
He smiled. It was softer than his usual smirk, almost... comforting. "It's your turn now, I'll try to get it from you."
The ball, that had always stayed glued to his feet, now rolled up to her. She looked at it, then back up at him. "You'll let me have the ball?"
He nodded. "It's only fair. See if you can keep it from me."
She snatched up the ball, cradling it protectively under her dominant foot as she stood. "Alright, Jae-il, let's see what you've got."
He came at her, and instinctively, she tried to move the ball away. Unexpectedly, she seemed to have succeeded, the ball staying with her as she moved around. A small smile of triumph started to curl the corners of her lips. In fact, as she moved around the small patch of grass, Jae-il seemed to have trouble getting near the ball.
"Ha!" She exclaimed, her confidence growing. "Not so easy when you're on the other end, is it?"
He merely smiled at her. "You're really good, Mia Noona."
It was only when their mom came out to call them in for dinner that she realized he'd been letting her have her way the entire time. After all, there were many times where she stumbled and lost control of the ball, even without him doing anything.
Not once did he try to take the ball seriously, his moves always gentle and predictable. She wasn't sure if she should be furious or grateful.
But, as she sat there, watching him extend a hand to help her up, she couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions swirling within her.
'What's the point of being jealous? He's my brother...'
She accepted his hand.
His smile turned a tad softer.
Her breath caught in her throat.
'Why is he so…'
And then, he pulled her to her feet with a surprising strength that belied his small stature.
"Come on." He said, letting go of her hand. "Let's go back."
Mia looked at him for a long moment and followed after him.
She was so dirty, yet this afternoon was the most fun she had in a while.
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)8 — The Next Level
The day of the tryouts for FC Seoul's Youth Academy arrived, the culmination of weeks, no, a literal lifetime of preparation. My father, Yeong Gu, drove me to the training ground. He was a bundle of nervous energy, constantly tapping the steering wheel or adjusting his position in the seat.
"I hope you remembered your cleats. You have them, right?" He asked for the fourth time that morning.
"Yes, dad." I said patiently.
"What about the registration forms? Did we sign them?"
I glanced at the papers on the dashboard, all neatly filled out and bearing our signatures. "Right there. All ready to go."
"Okay." He let out a breath, his fingers tapping an unending rhythm. "You're my son, you'll be fine. Just... remember the strategies we went over and you'll ace it."
"I'll do my best." I said with a smile of my own, trying to calm his jittering nerves.
Next to him, in the passenger seat, Eun Ha sat serenely. She looked back at me with a warm, encouraging smile, her calm in stark contrast to Yeong Gu's palpable anxiety. She had come more to manage him than me.
"Just remember what your father said, and it'll be fine. They would be foolish not to take you."
Once again, I found myself nodding repetitively. It was an understandable concern slash anticipation they had, after all, FC Seoul wasn't just a club—it was the pinnacle for youth players in South Korea, offering a clear, established path to the K-League.
This was a huge opportunity, and one that, if successful, would set my path back towards professional football, this time in this new life.
I glanced out the window. 'Time sure does fly by though...'
A slight nudge on my side brought my attention back to the car. Mia, sitting beside me, gave me a conspiratorial wink and a mischievous smile. "Just remember, you mess this up, and I get to say 'I told you so' for the next hundred years." She whispered, her tone teasing but not malicious.
After that afternoon together, this pesky little kid warmed up to me considerably. She wasn't suddenly affectionate, but it felt like some barrier between us had fallen.
"Your confidence in me is inspiring." I replied, a chuckle escaping me. "Don't worry, your chance to gloat isn't here yet."
She grinned. "We'll see." Her hand sneakily brushed mine. "We'll see..."
Su Ah, ever the observer, gave me a quiet nod across the seat.
I nodded in return. She then reached over to squeeze my hand briefly.
Mia subtly interfered by shifting her weight so that our hands couldn't properly meet.
Su Ah glared, before her mother's calming voice cut the tension short. "Girls… please…"
'An interesting rivalry, isn't it?' I thought to myself, a bemused smile on my face.
Eventually, the massive complex of the FC Seoul Youth Academy loomed before us, a stark contrast to the familiar patch of grass behind our house or the modest grounds of Suryong Private School. Gleaming modern buildings, perfectly manicured pitches stretching as far as the eye could see. It screamed professionalism.
This was the big league, even for seven-year-olds.
Dad's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Alright, son. This is it. Remember, deep breaths. Play your game. And… have fun?" The last part sounded more like a question, as if fun was a luxury he wasn't sure was permitted here.
It was unusual to see him like that, not knowing what to say or do. He was typically a pillar of stoic authority in the family.
His words of caution about my supposed hubris, echoed back in my head.
Eun Ha laid a calming hand on Yeong Gu's arm. "Dear, it's going to be okay." She assured him, her voice gentle. "Our Jae-il has got this."
Yeong Gu exhaled, a slow, controlled breath. He glanced back at me through the rearview mirror. "Good luck." He managed, his voice tight. "Make us proud, Jae-il."
"We know you'll do well." Eun Ha added with a smile, reaching back to gently squeeze my hand.
Mia leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered. "Show them your magic, little bro." Her usual tease held an unusual sincerity, almost a vote of confidence in disguise. Well, would you look at her? "If there's anything in the world you can do without messing it up, it's this."
Su Ah's usual mask of indifference held a hint of dignity and anticipation as well. "Just don't trip over the ball on the field."
After a quick series of encouraging words from everyone in the car, we arrived in front of one of the smaller, less impressive buildings, where a group of children was gathered with their parents and guardians. From their nervous pacing, anxious fidgeting with soccer balls and cleats, and frequent, almost longing glances towards the main pitch, it was obvious who these kids were—prospective recruits.
This was a different kind of intensity, and I was genuinely fascinated by it.
From here, I saw everything.
There were no more than a dozen or so kids. A few stood out due to their size or demeanor. But overall, they were what you could expect from an academy of that caliber. Decent, yes, but nothing extraordinary. Some, however, did carry a unique flair in their movement, the hint of latent talent.
I'd recognize that anywhere.
The car door clicked open, and I stepped out of the cool comfort into the humid, sticky heat.
"Here we are, son! Main entrance for U-8 check-in should be over there." Yeong Gu announced, pointing. "Are you all set?"
"I think so." I responded, stepping out of the car.
He nodded briskly, the nerves from earlier replaced by a more familiar determination.
As we approached the check-in tables, the sheer number of hopefuls became even more apparent. I'd estimated a dozen from the car, but now, closer, it was clear there were at least fifty, maybe sixty kids my age. All vying for the few spots the academy offered. A low murmur of anxiousness hung in the air like an omnipresent cloud.
"Cha Jae-il?" A woman with a clipboard and a no-nonsense expression called out.
"Here." I replied, stepping forward. Dad hovered just behind me, craning his neck.
She ticked my name off a long list and handed me a bright orange bib with the number '23' printed on it. "Pin this on clearly, front and back. Warm-up will be on Pitch 3. Coaches will direct you. Parents, please remain in the designated viewing areas." Her tone was brisk, efficient, clearly used to managing hordes of excited children and their even more excited parents. "Next." She barked, her gaze shifting to the next hopeful, already reaching for another number.
I pinned the number 23 to my chest. The fabric felt crisp and new. "So... just go on over to pitch three and do as they say?" I said to Dad, more rhetorical than questioning, as I knew what I needed to do.
He patted my head. "Yes, Jae-il. Show them what you've got. Remember: stay cool and play smart."
Eun Ha stepped in smoothly, pressing a water bottle and a neatly wrapped snack box into my hands. "Eat and drink, even if you're not hungry. It's going to be a long, tough day." She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead.
'Long day? This is just the beginning.
'
From the sidelines, Mia waved, an uncharacteristically sweet smile on her face, though I swore I could see the hint of a smirk playing in her eyes. "Go kick their butts! Make those other kids wish they'd stayed home and played video games!" She said, causing Yeong Gu to harrumph.
Su Ah remained impassive as ever, merely giving a tiny nod to show she was listening and wished me well.
I gave them all a reassuring nod, a small smile playing on my lips. Turning, I headed towards Pitch 3.
The designated area was already teeming with other bib-wearing kids.
Coaches in official FC Seoul tracksuits were starting to corral them, their voices sharp and authoritative.
I took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of liniment filling my lungs. It smelled like opportunity. It smelled like home.
One of the coaches, a man with a weathered face and eyes that seemed to miss nothing—I'd later learn he was Coach Park, one of the head assessors for this age group—blew a sharp blast on his whistle.
"Alright, U-8s, listen up!" His voice boomed across the pitch. "Welcome to the FC Seoul Youth Academy tryouts. Today, we're looking for talent, for hard work, and for passion. We'll start with some basic drills, then move into small-sided games. Give it your all, listen to instructions, and show us what you've got!"
He pointed towards a set of colorful cones at one end of the pitch. "Get lined up for some warm-up exercises!"
We started the warm-up, stretching, and agility exercises. Some of the children, in their excitement or anxiety, rushed their movements, causing one of the coaches to pause and emphasize the importance of proper form to prevent injuries. He shot a quick glance my way as if acknowledging that I alone had followed their guidance correctly. 'Maybe that's a good sign.'
A kid next to me, visibly struggling with the exercises and clearly out of breath from rushing the last few movements, received no such acknowledgement.
'I doubt we'll be sharing a locker room.'
I wasn't worried about competition here.
'Competition is overrated. Quality, though. Quality makes a champion.'
After a brief pause for a well-supervised hydration break, we moved on to skill drills. Passes, traps, turns, feints. Some were quite sloppy, some showed promise.
Coach Park, along with the others, watched us with an eagle-eyed focus. They noted every fumble, every hesitation. But what they seemed to value the most wasn't perfection—because perfection at seven wasn't really possible.
However, if I wanted to speedrun this shit, perfection would come sooner than anyone could expect.
I smiled; it was finally my turn.
'Jair Campinho is back, bitches.'
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)9 — The Next Level II
I took a breath, feeling the ball at my feet, connecting with the sense of familiarity that resonated deep within me. I took my time, not because of the pressure but simply for the pure love of it.
I passed. The ball found my foot again. I controlled, shifted my weight, and set it back in motion with a precision that belied my seven years of experience. Again, the process repeated. With each touch, I was not only displaying my skill, but also my ability to learn quickly and effectively.
My passes were sharp, my touches deliberate, and the way the ball moved at my feet felt instinctive. My body, even this small, untrained physique, moved with the weight of decades of practice and the fluidity of my instincts.
When my turn was over, I had played my game and the gazes on me weren't those of coaches simply evaluating, but rather, of those who had witnessed something exceptional.
Coach Park's gaze often flickered back to me, and I could almost see the gears turning in his mind.
Small-sided games were the last piece of the tryout puzzle.
Two mini-pitches with five-a-side teams. A swarm of bib-clad kids was ready, adrenaline pumping. The sheer energy in the air was palpable.
I felt calm amidst the chaos.
When they announced the teams and positions, a small spark of satisfaction lit up within me at the sight of 'Cha Jae-il' being assigned as a center-forward on one of the teams. This felt fitting. Symbolic.
I was joined by a few others—some I could already tell wouldn't make the cut, while one boy named Sung Hyunwoo, bore a special attention.
'Now that kid… has some talent.'
A quick warm-up, a stern set of instructions, and the game was on.
The starting whistle seemed to break a spell; the organized chaos that we were moments ago became a blur of motion on the tiny field.
The game started off predictably. Some of my teammates were more enthusiastic than skilled. They lunged at the ball as if it was a prize to be snatched rather than controlled. Sung Hyunwoo must've been trained well because he looked different from everyone else out there on the pitch.
A wayward pass came in my direction, scuffed, but it was an opportunity.
My eyes scanned the pitch. Instinctively, I could see where I needed to be, where I needed to move to exploit the space.
I trapped the scuffed pass, quickly adjusting.
In that instant, everything around seemed to slow down. The shouts, the thumping of the footfalls, even the whistle of the coaches—all receded.
I dribbled, feeling the weight of the ball against my feet like a long-lost friend. A defender approached, his posture low and defensive, but I knew, I remembered, that trick to weave past. A subtle touch on the ball, a quick switch of directions, and I was past him, watching him flounder, caught in his own misplaced momentum.
Another approached. I feinted to the left, then spun away to the right. His move was far too telegraphed.
The straight path ahead was clear. And then there it was: the opening, a narrow, tantalizing passage through the mass of legs.
A well-placed pass. Precision. Timing.
I could see Sung Hyunwoo making a move. I saw his movement patterns and anticipated his actions.
The pass was swift, sliding through the sea of legs as if on invisible rails.
And there it was.
The moment the ball met his foot was pure perfection. His movement, the shift in weight, the decisive tap that redirected the ball into the netting at the back of the tiny goal.
We'd done it, our first goal in this mock-game of the trials, was Sung Hyunwoo.
He was ecstatic, running with that intense exuberance of someone who had just scored a goal. He ran up to me and hugged me. "Thank you! Well done!" Then went to celebrate with another teammate.
I was slightly surprised by the sudden hug. A sudden burst of joy and a quick celebration would have sufficed in other circumstances. But this boy had a special appreciation for teamwork. Regardless, I didn't know whether I should've chimed in on the merriment or simply got back into position.
Being too standoffish could give the wrong impression.
The game continued from there, with the kickoff by the other team.
Sung Hyunwoo, in particular, was proving to be quite the little prodigy—well, for his age. I've seen many talents die out before their peak, so I was reluctant to call him anything but a good prospect for a football player.
He moved instinctively to cover a gap on our right flank, managing to win the ball back and then pass to me, a hopeful smile on his face. I obliged him. It was easy for me to weave past the remaining two defenders. I was fast on my legs, faster than any seven-year-olds had any right to be.
A feint to the left, a sprint to accelerate in the vacuum left by clumsy defenders. I took two more touches, then casually poked the ball between the keeper's legs and into the goal.
xXx
Coach Park's POV:
From the sidelines, Coach Park observed the spectacle in motion before him with an analytical intensity, his gaze catching each subtle nuance of Cha Jae-il's performance. That child was special—that was clear.
His movements were beyond those expected at his tender age.
The boy, as soon as the game commenced, transformed.
'This is absurd.' Coach Park mused internally. He'd seen exceptional talent before; kids with remarkable abilities, often products of intensive, expensive training regimes.
But this? This was different.
It wasn't that the kid was just skillful; it was the way he played.
Each movement exuded an unerring calm and an otherworldly foresight. He read the flow of the game like a veteran, anticipating movements and spaces that were, frankly, unthinkable at this level. And yet, there he was, executing maneuvers with a casual, almost playful mastery.
It wasn't just his ability, though, that was arresting. It was the effect he had on his team.
Cha Jae-il orchestrated plays with the confidence and clarity of a conductor leading a symphony.
His presence seemed to galvanize them.
Sung Hyunwoo was an example. A budding talent, no doubt. Yet under Cha's influence, the boy flourished. He played more instinctively, with more flair, almost feeding off the confidence radiated by his younger teammate.
Together, the duo formed a striking force. The synergy between their movements was something beyond their years, and their team's structure morphed, adapted, and thrived.
'It's almost as if...' He shook his head in disbelief, watching as Cha slipped through two defenders with an ease that defied logic.
The assistants next to Coach Park buzzed, their pens scribbling frantically. One, especially taken with Cha's display, couldn't resist voicing the thought. "He's not real, right?" The tone wasn't quite joking. "He's just… on a whole other level."
Another nodded vigorously. "That kid's going to make some waves. Maybe we should start calling him the Little Genius, or the Prodigy."
Park suppressed a smile. These kinds of talents were rare gems, found only once or twice in a coach's lifetime. The last time he had felt a thrill like this, had been nearly twenty years ago with none other than Park Joo-Ho.
A ripple in the otherwise placid pond of predictable mediocrity. A name to be etched into the annals. After all, South Korea didn't usually produce strikers of the highest tier, and that meant an exceptional talent in that area could change the landscape.
He looked on. 'Maybe it's too soon. Maybe it's just a phase. But if this is real...'
"They scored again." One of the assistants pointed, the tone hushed.
"Unbelievable. They have 7 points already. They scored six times in less than ten minutes and the other team has yet to score at all!"
The young center-forward was being hugged by Sung Hyunwoo, the protagonist of a recent goal. The entirety of the team converged around those two, forming a jumbled mass of excitement. There was an unmistakable glow of pride on their little faces.
But Cha Jae-il himself seemed to take a step back, a flicker of unease crossing his features as if he didn't particularly relish all that contact or the excessive celebration of their recent achievement.
He looked more akin to a man surrounded by a crowd of adoring but overly enthusiastic children. One assistant couldn't help but crack up at the scene.
The rest of the game continued in a similar vein, with goals being one-sidedly scored by the same team, over and over and over—to the point that the game had to be called off before it reached the 20 minutes limit because there was nothing left for anyone to do.
An awkward silence fell over the viewers on the stands.
Some of the kids from the defeated team began to burst in tears or were clearly heartbroken.
The final result was too demoralizing for anyone to look at.
11 - 0
Then complaints began to pour from the parents at the sidelines.
"It was clearly not fair to put all the good kids in the same team. This doesn't represent their talent. Please reconsider!"
"That team is too strong!"
"Why is there one kid in the wrong age bracket? That boy can't be an U-8! Are you trying to cheat the tryouts, Mister?!"
"This is outrageous! What kind of trial is this?"
A cacophony of grievances. Parents venting, other children on the brink of tears or perhaps mid-eruption. Some were just standing there, stunned.
"I'm afraid the teams are randomly organized to simulate an even match." Coach Park explained calmly.
"You think that was even? How could you tell?" A particularly vehement father exclaimed.
"The point of these matches is not about victory. This is an evaluation for their skills." Coach Park continued, his voice gruff.
"How is this measuring up their skills when you can't see their skills in the first place?! My son couldn't play at all! They couldn't show their skills like this!" Said another father.
"If they couldn't, then doesn't that already speak up for itself? We've seen what we needed to." His tone was definitive and didn't leave room for further argument.
With that, he turned around and walked off. As if he had any intention of wasting his time on angry, delusional parents.
The assistants stepped in to placate the remaining parents.
Coach Park took one last look at Number 23, then lowered his cap, shading his eyes. 'Kid's gonna go all the way if he stays healthy and hungry for success…'
Yes. Coach Park was certain.
He wanted this Cha Jae-il in his program.
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)10 — Results
From a parent's standpoint, the scene that unfolded in front of Eun Ha was a parent's worst nightmare—except maybe the death of a child. In hindsight, that seemed a bit dramatic to say, yet she couldn't help but flinch and then recoil in fear of her child becoming the target of their aggression.
"I want to complain! My child's talent is wasted here!" An irate parent demanded, taking it out on one of the assistants.
"We assure you we will evaluate every child appropriately, ma'am." The poor man tried to placate her with a strained smile. He'd probably done this a million times.
'That's why parents should come separately.'
Eun Ha could feel a migraine setting in, the noise grating against her already frazzled nerves.
She glanced at the retreating back of Coach Park, then back to the chaotic mess before her.
Yeong Gu, who'd been silent beside her, finally stirred.
"This..." He said slowly, shaking his head, disbelief in his voice. "Unreal. Did you see him move?"
"Of course." She managed to force a chuckle despite her nerves. "You kept saying, 'Look! There!' every few seconds. And so did Mia!"
"..." Mia simply coughed in her hand.
To be honest, Jae-il's performance was indeed unreal. She hadn't been exaggerating her words to Yeong Gu that evening on the balcony, about her son having something that set him apart. Anyone with a functioning head could've noticed that.
But she hadn't quite anticipated this level of contrast.
There had been a few standout kids, but Jae-il had been something else entirely. He played with a sophistication and nuance that Eun Ha didn't even pretend to understand. It was beyond his age. Beyond any seven year-old's ability, actually.
And that was actually coming from a woman that didn't exactly know much about football at all, or what it meant.
One thing, though, was obvious—he stood out, and that wasn't always a positive thing.
Yeong Gu had often mentioned the potential problems of being 'too outstanding.' How people might react differently. And she saw that here. She saw how the children from the other team started to grow bitter. How they started looking at the kids from Team B, especially Jae-il and Hyunwoo, with growing envy.
Envy in kids was just envy; they wouldn't be able to understand it until they got older. What really troubled her was how the adults seemed to be worse in that aspect.
However, despite her concerns, Jae-il looked perfectly unbothered, unfazed, and almost… professional, she'd call it, in the face of the chaos that ensued after the game had been blown to hell by the sheer difference in abilities between the two teams. He merely waved in their direction and headed for the changing rooms.
She wondered where her little Jae had learned this composure and how she had failed to see him develop in such a way. Surely, it wasn't just a result of football alone. There was something more, wasn't there? Something that she was missing.
'Was I really so busy that I failed to notice the way he's grown?'
The crowd was beginning to thin. Several of the other parents, their complaints not having found any traction, retreated back to their cars with disappointed children.
A few, still buzzing with discontent, lingered, hoping their objections would somehow miraculously alter their child's performance or perhaps get them another chance.
'Unlikely.'
Their attention shifted towards the ongoing match on another match, which was still proceeding normally, as the game wasn't as one-sided.
"They didn't let the team finish." She heard Yeong Gu muse aloud, clearly also watching the match unfold. "It's unusual for trials to be cut short. But they couldn't afford to continue anyway with how one-sided the match became. They wanted to see how children play and see how they react when things don't go as well."
In fact, despite the match on the other pitch being drastically more even and well-played, it still didn't elicit nearly the excitement of Jae-il's spectacle.
The other games didn't have the explosive energy and devastating effectiveness that Jae-il had displayed with Hyunwoo at his back.
That duo alone had decimated any opposition that the other team could have possibly put forth.
'Definitely an eye opener. If he can play like that here… what would he look like on the international stage?'
xXx
Jae-il's POV:
Sung Hyunwoo was waiting at my table. It wasn't entirely unusual for players from the same tryout group to share a table in the cafeteria. But Hyunwoo had a look in his eyes, something more than just the usual camaraderie.
He'd sought me out.
"Cha Jae-il. I've never seen anything like the way you play." His admiration was evident, his smile wide. "Do you play every day?"
"Only in the mornings." I replied, taking a seat at the lunch table across from Hyunwoo.
"Just the mornings? You train every morning?" His surprise was almost comical.
"Yeah, pretty much. Every morning. That way, the rest of my day is free to study and do stuff."
"Oh." Hyunwoo mused as he took out a snack. "That's cool, I wish I had enough discipline to do that."
"I guess it's something you develop over time."
"Yeah. Maybe." A sudden thought lit up his face, his eyes widening with excitement. "Hey! Since you're so good, do you want to practice with me someday? I know this great park, lots of space and the pitch is well-kept!" The invitation, tinged with the innocence and excitement unique to a seven-year-old's earnest desire to spend time with someone he admired, was sincere.
I briefly paused mid-bite to look at that eager face of his. "Sorry, Hyunwoo." You're not at my level; is what I wanted to say, but held my tongue. I didn't have to destroy this child's dreams. "I prefer practicing on my own, actually." Not technically a lie.
"Alright." Hyunwoo's face faltered, the smile slipping a fraction. "Maybe another day. It'll be really fun!" His enthusiasm didn't waver.
I gave him a noncommittal smile, turning my attention back to the meal. 'Not going to happen.'
The kid had potential. Maybe we'd even go far together, but we were a long way off that. I had no interest in practicing with anyone at his level.
'No offense kid, but I need to take bigger leaps than you
.'
"Maybe." I replied to his insistence.
Hyunwoo nodded, returning his focus to his lunch, the initial disappointment now replaced by a hopeful expectancy, clearly believing 'no' would eventually become 'yes.'
...
Coach Park strode into the room, his presence commanding an instant hush.
"U-8s! The evaluation is now closed. After a careful, thorough, and objective assessment by the coaching panel, I am pleased to announce the names of those who have made it onto the list of our newly minted FC Seoul Youth Academy U-8 players. Those who have been chosen, please proceed directly to Coach Lim. She'll take down your information and direct you to where you can sign the appropriate contracts for enrollment in the program." He looked over the group of children with stern appraisal before nodding. "Good work, all of you. The successful players are as follows:"
He consulted a clipboard. "Chae Min Jun." The first name elicited a sharp breath and a sudden enthusiastic outburst of "Yes!" as Chae ran over to Coach Lim's side, beaming from ear to ear.
The next few announcements—Yi Kyung-soo, Choi Yun-seok—were greeted with similar excitement.
Hyunwoo sat straighter, eyes gleaming, as his name was announced next.
I didn't react to mine.
What was the point? It wasn't a question of 'if', it was always 'when'.
I merely walked over to Coach Lim.
Hyunwoo joined me shortly after his celebration ended and was now next to me in front of the registration table, practically bouncing with excitement.
Coach Lim's smile was perfunctory as she handed out a couple of sheets with instructions and rules and other formalities. Then she ushered us to follow her into an administrative building. The sun was relentless, beating down on our small procession of the chosen few—maybe fifteen, I counted—who trudged behind her.
"Have your parents read these documents. Make sure they agree to all the terms before they sign them."
Then, almost predictably, she looked straight at me when she said:
"I hope they won't be making a mistake."
I returned a calm, measured nod, understanding her insinuations and the implications of being the youngest member of the U-8 squad.
But it didn't matter. Whatever worries they had were irrelevant. I had proved myself on that pitch, and that's what mattered.
"I'll keep that in mind, Miss." I said simply, already envisioning the celebrations Yeong Gu and the girls would throw upon my return.
After I bid Hyunwoo goodbye and the last of the chosen kids vanished from view, I turned my steps toward the main parking lot. A sea of vehicles greeted me, with my family's car standing among the others, unmistakable.
As I drew near, I caught sight of Yeong Gu and Mia deep in an animated conversation. Su Ah, ever the reserved one, seemed to be listening intently, a book held delicately in her hands. Eun Ha was, as always, a pillar of serene strength beside them. The picture they painted—one of anticipation and support, was heartwarming.
"Jae-il!" Yeong Gu was the first to notice my approach, his voice cutting their conversation short, causing their attention to shift immediately to me.
I lifted my chin a notch and flashed him a smile.
The document in my hand was clear: the contract and enrollment form for the FC Seoul Youth Academy.
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)11 — A Mother's Reflections and a Sister's Growing Affections
Eun Ha's POV:
With each step, the heat of the parking lot seemed to rise, the sun's glare reflecting harshly against the multitude of cars that stretched out before them.
Yeong Gu was pacing back and forth in front of their parked sedan, the movement almost rhythmic. Eun Ha watched her husband, recognizing his nervous tic—a symptom of his deep investment in Jae-il's success at the tryouts.
For Yeong Gu, this day held an almost existential importance for their family, as if the entire Cha family was riding on Jae-il's tiny shoulders, a metaphorical burden far too heavy for a child. Their household was wealthy enough; they weren't exactly pinning their future livelihood to Jae-il's success, but they certainly saw him as someone to be proud of.
And with his talent, they should. He's just one of those once-in-a-lifetime children, even in Eun Ha's limited experience as a parent.
But in Eun Ha's view, football wasn't about the glitz and the fame. Sure, there was money, and glory, but that wasn't what mattered most. To her, football was a metaphor for Jae-il's potential in whatever he chose to do.
It was his ambition, his drive to improve, to seek a better future—not just in sports but in every facet of his young, burgeoning life—that made football such a significant symbol for the family. After all, neither Eun Ha or her husband, Yeong Gu, would've ever gotten into football if it wasn't for Jae-il.
Personally, she still wasn't into it, but her son certainly was. And so, in turn, was everyone around him.
Glancing at her daughters, Mia was predictably engrossed in an intense conversation, gesturing wildly with her hands before breaking into a mischievous grin and putting Jae-il in a headlock of sorts, something that looked halfway like a hug and an actual restraint. Su Ah, as always, was stoic in her participation, listening, offering occasional input but largely content to not partake in their activities.
As the trio engaged in their antics, a fondness touched Eun Ha's lips. She cherished these little moments.
Yeong Gu, as he expertly drove through the city, glanced at Jae-il through the rearview mirror. "So Jae-il..." he started, his voice a mix of pride and a barely contained excitement. "Tell us. How was it?" This was a man ready to erupt into a full-blown celebratory dance in the confines of the vehicle if the answer aligned with his hopes.
"It was okay." Came the slightly nonchalant response from Jae-il. A little disappointing at his understatement, to be honest. They had expected him to be more excited, to be jumping on his seat, or bouncing around, but their boy was as poised as always.
Eun Ha caught his gaze in the mirror.
"That's great." Yeong Gu responded with palpable pride, despite his attempt at restraint.
"We should celebrate!" Eun Ha interjected, her enthusiasm finally bursting.
Mia immediately seized the idea and ran with it. "I want fried chicken and cake!" Her voice was almost a squeal.
"Fried chicken and cake, please." Su Ah added softly.
"Girls, girls... Let Jae-il choose. This is his day, right?" Yeong Gu gently intervened.
Jae-il merely shrugged. "I'm fine with anything. Fried chicken and cake sounds good." He said.
"That's my lil bro!" Mia responded with her usual excitement, leaning over him. He gently pushed her face aside with his free palm.
"Unnie! Please leave him alone!"
"Mia, don't make your brother's head fall off, okay? We kinda need him." Yeong Gu chimed in with a slight chuckle. "How is he going to get those sponsorships with an injured spine?"
Eun Ha chuckled at Yeong Gu's joke. A bit too much for her husband's sense of humor, to be honest. And her laughter only served to fuel Yeong Gu's enthusiasm. As the merriment inside the vehicle grew, Eun Ha thought that nothing, nothing, could ever ruin such a perfect family moment.
xXx
Mia's POV:
Dad had gone above and beyond for dinner. It was enough to even make the usually quiet Su Ah break into a smile and let herself go a little. Not to mention the number of plates of chicken that Mia consumed.
And, as the night drew to a close, everyone retreated to their respective corners.
Everyone but Jae-il.
She found him sitting in the living room, watching TV. An ongoing football match; his eyes were so intense that she managed to sneak behind him, snake her arms around him, and utter a soft 'boo' in his ears. She chuckled halfway through, expecting her little brother to jump, to yelp in surprise.
Yet, he remained calm.
The faintest flicker in his eyes indicated recognition, not alarm, and a subtle relaxation of his muscles followed her presence rather than the tensing one would anticipate at being suddenly grabbed from behind. What followed, however, wasn't his usual reprimand or chiding, it was a soft chuckle and a gentle tug on one of her arms still coiled around him.
"Noona, go to sleep already. I'm gonna finish watching this."
In her world of unshakeable convictions, there had been a fundamental, albeit unspoken rule: her brother—her only true rival, her comrade in a shared world of mischief and laughter, wasn't supposed to grow up.
Not so fast.
Not faster than her, at the very least. This was new and different to what she had grown used to, but for some inexplicable reason, Mia didn't hate it.
She released her grip. A small smile, as she stepped around and plopped down next to him on the couch, taking up a significant amount of space and not really sorry about it. "Don't wanna." With a defiant smirk, she draped herself over his legs, her head nestled comfortably.
"Why not?"
"You know, being awake, being cool. Stuff." She quipped with her usual sass and confidence.
"Right. So cool."
"What's so special about football, anyway?" She redirected the conversation as she turned to look at the match.
"You've asked me the same thing before."
"Have I?" Her tone feigned ignorance.
"You have."
"Really? Well, what's wrong with asking it twice?"
He exhaled softly, a brief, patient pause hanging before answering. "There's strategy, precision, athleticism..." He trailed off.
"Strategy? Like what? Kicking the ball into a net?" She cut in, a teasing grin stretching across her features. He arched an eyebrow, his expression a mirror of mild exasperation. "I can kick a ball too, y'know."
"Strategy, yes, but it's not just about kicking the ball. You have to be clever, move in ways that your opposition wouldn't expect, exploit their mistakes. It's not as easy as you're trying to make it sound."
"Sure it's not." She dismissed, her grin undiminished.
He knew she was simply messing with him, but that's how it had been between them for quite some time now.
She sighed, shifting and nuzzling deeper into the pillow that was her brother's lap.
He stilled, tearing his eyes away from the game to look down at her. He seemed... weirded out, for some reason.
Mia couldn't understand why he was making that expression.
Then the first half of the game ended, and an advertisement break commenced. A very beautiful blonde Unnie was displaying an expensive shampoo. There was a lot of exposed skin involved, even as the young woman's wavy blonde fluttered in a cinematic way in a wind machine's gale.
She then applied the product on her head and began shampooing. 'Weird.' Mia concluded, wondering why the hell did anyone think this was the most effective method for selling a shampoo brand. She had already forgotten about it the moment it went away from her screen.
However, Jae-il's eyes seemed to be more interested in that woman than her.
Then it got Mia thinking. "Do you like blondes, Jae-il?" Mia asked, her curiosity piqued.
"..."
Jae-il went uncharacteristically silent for a bit. Then...
"Why are you asking me that?" He queried back.
"I'm curious, is all." She smiled.
His look grew increasingly weird, and she didn't like it one bit. However, after a drawn-out sigh, he composed himself. "I'm not sure about what I like, to be perfectly honest. I just… haven't given it much thought." His gaze, typically so direct, wandered.
A knowing smile stretched across her face. "Don't be like that. Tell me." The mischievous twinkle in her eyes matched her tone as she shifted to prop her chin up with one hand.
He shrugged. "I guess blondes have their appeal, sure."
Mia's fingers found their way to her dark, silken hair. "So not dark hair, then?" Her tone held the barest hint of a challenge.
"No, that works too. It's a look, for sure." His response was measured.
"Well, then what is it? Short or long?" Her line of questioning continued.
"Length is irrelevant." Jae-il said simply.
"Irrelevant, is it?" She leaned in slightly. "How about height? Taller, shorter?"
"Doesn't really matter."
"No preferences? That's surprising."
"I have preferences. It just depends on who it is."
"You don't say? Then... body types. What are you into?"
"Again, depends on who it is." His patience was clearly waning. "Noona..."
"Huh?"
"It's late." He pointed out, nodding towards the digital clock at the far end of the room which read 9.55pm.
"Mhmm..." She agreed without any actual intention of moving.
"Go to sleep." His command, laced with brotherly authority.
As if that would work on her.
"Okay, I'll sleep here." She declared. There was a stubborn set to her chin that promised this would be a battle of wills. "I'll keep you company."
"Oh, would you look at that? I'm so tired. Must've been all the football. Think I'm off to bed." With a yawn that was far too dramatic, he reached out and ruffled her hair, messing up her neat bun. Then he slipped out from beneath her.
She puffed up indignantly, "Yah! Come back here!" But it was a token protest as he vanished around the corner.
"Night!" He called out.
"Night!" She grumbled back, her annoyance palpable as she rolled over. She glanced back at the TV. The commercial was long gone, and now it was some kind of detergent that cleaned better and whiter. Still... "Blondes, huh?"
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)12 — The First Match
Mia's POV:
Mia stared at the ceiling of the living room, the glow from the TV casting shifting shadows across her face. The detergent commercial had long finished, but her mind was elsewhere, replaying the conversation with Jae-il.
"Blondes, huh?" She muttered again, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger.
She'd always been confident in her appearance—she knew she was pretty, had heard it enough times from relatives and family friends. But something about Jae-il's casual admission bothered her in a way she couldn't quite articulate. It wasn't jealousy, exactly. It was more like... disappointment?
The thought made her sit up abruptly.
Why would she care what type of girls her little brother liked? It was weird enough that she'd even asked in the first place.
She grabbed the remote and flicked through channels, trying to distract herself.
A romantic drama appeared on screen—some melodramatic scene where a woman was confessing her feelings to a man who looked remarkably uninterested. Mia snorted and changed the channel again.
Another show, another set of commercials, none of which could pull her attention away from the nagging feeling in her chest.
With a sigh, she turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table.
She lay there for a few more minutes, eyes closed but mind far too active for sleep to claim her. Eventually, she pulled herself to her feet, her sock-clad feet dragging a little as she headed towards her own room.
Mia briefly glanced at Jae-il's room as she passed by.
"Are you jealous of the blonde on TV?"
She startled as a voice came out of nowhere and whipped around to see Su Ah, standing in the dim hallway with her book in hand, a slight arch to her brow that hinted at amusement.
"Were you eavesdropping?" Mia retorted, her tone accusatory but not entirely upset.
Su Ah shook her head. "Just walking down to grab a drink. Overheard you guys. Couldn't help myself."
"Spying little..." Mia started, but then realized it wasn't worth the energy. "I'm not jealous. Don't be ridiculous."
Su Ah didn't look convinced but she didn't push the topic. "Alright." Her eyes flickered from Mia's annoyed expression to the dark hallway ahead.
"So what, do I have to dye my hair?" Mia huffed after a beat of silence.
"Isn't it a bit too soon for you to be concerned about Jae-il's love life?"
"..." Mia opened and then shut her mouth, unable to refute her point. She wasn't exactly concerned about his love life. It wasn't her business anyway. So what was bothering her anyway?
"He might not find someone good. What am I supposed to do? He needs help. What kind of a sister would I be otherwise?" She said instead, looking away, her voice tinged with defiance..
Su Ah sighed, her voice softening as if dealing with a petulant toddler. Wasn't Mia supposed to be the older sister? "I don't think he requires our help, Unnie. All the boys his age aren't into relationships or anything." She then tilted her head. "But even if that was the case, why are you being so... worked up? Even for you, this isn't something you should care about this much." There it was; her usual perceptiveness.
"Maybe I should bleach it. It looks good on some girls I know at school..." Mia continued, as if she hadn't heard her sister's words, staring intently at the long strands of black. Then a sly smile curled on her lips as a thought seemed to strike her. She turned her gaze to Su Ah. "You know what, I'll go blonde. How would that look on me?"
Su Ah, exasperated and no longer interested in humoring Mia, turned back towards the kitchen to fetch some water. Mia followed closely, like a stray pup looking for approval, continuing her train of thought aloud, contemplating shades and styles that might suit her best. Su Ah didn't care about any of it; her attention was solely focused on the water, as Mia's words rolled past like the relentless chatter of the TV.
"Or, you think blonde isn't good? I dunno." Mia shrugged.
"Just go to bed, Unnie. You'll forget about all of this come morning." Su Ah sighed yet again. She just wanted a drink, damn it.
And so Mia went to her bed, while Su Ah went back into the embrace of the novel she had been reading earlier.
Except that the novel turned out to be quite disturbing. Who'd have thought that relationships between relatives was a thing?
She shook her head and put the book back into the shelf, hopefully to gather dust and be forgotten.
xXx
Jae-il's POV:
The opening day for the Seoul under-10's competition had rolled in quickly. Too quickly. I could almost see time itself speeding up, and the days becoming mere moments that were swept away in a river's flow.
However, this was precisely what I needed to make sure my future plans wouldn't get all muddied up due to the circumstances.
As always, I woke up early, got dressed, ate breakfast and waited outside for Yeong Gu to finish and take me to the venue.
"You ready for the ceremony, champ?"
"As I'll ever be." I shrugged as I made to enter his vehicle.
My dad glanced over, his expression serious. He leaned in and gave me a gentle nudge. "You know, it's alright if you feel nervous."
"I'm not nervous." I replied, then sighed, understanding exactly what my words implied to a parent's ear. "It's okay. Really. I'm not afraid."
"If you say so, but you don't have to always put up a brave front." He responded with a hint of pride, as he always did. His face always brightened up when he heard me saying things beyond my age.
Then, we took off towards the destination. "You have your lunch, change of clothes, shoes, and other stuff in the backpack?" Yeong Gu inquired.
"Yep." I tapped on the backpack, its contents securely packed and double-checked by Eun Ha before we had set out.
"Good. It'll be hard for your mom and sisters to make it in time, what with all the other things on her schedule." Yeong Gu commented.
"No problem." I said calmly. It was just a training session, and not even the first one.
They didn't have to come watch.
"No problem, he says." Yeong Gu muttered to himself, as we moved towards the stadium.
...
He dropped me off at the stadium; he said he couldn't overstay either due to work. Another business trip that'd keep him away for another week, likely.
Apparently, that was a normal thing in the Korean corporate scene. And Yeong Gu held quite a high position in that ladder.
I waved him off. Then, with a last glance at his departing figure, I turned my focus to the building before me. In the past few weeks, it had become a familiar sight as I participated in various training sessions.
Inside, the place was bustling with energy, excitement tangible in the air as people moved about. I slipped inside and quietly navigated until I reached the locker room. It wasn't particularly hard to find considering the signs.
Upon arrival, the room was abuzz with a blend of nervousness, excitement, and the usual banter. Though, for some reason, today the tension was more pronounced than usual.
The moment I stepped in, several pairs of eyes swiveled my way.
The first voice to greet me wasn't one from my teammates. Instead, it was from one of the assistants of the U-8 team. He looked so nondescript that I'd always forget his name.
"Ah! If it isn't little Jae-il!" His greeting was enthusiastic. "Everyone, the team's ace is here!"
A cacophony of voices followed, a few even calling out 'Ayyy, the ace has arrived!' And 'Who let this guy in here?'
All lighthearted ribbings.
"Hey." I acknowledged with a casual wave.
"Right on time, Jae-il." Coach Park gave me a slight nod, his cap slightly lowered. "I was just about to make it official."
I merely raised an eyebrow as I joined my teammates in a loose semi-circle around the coach.
Coach Park's gaze swept across the room, ensuring all eyes were on him, before he began. "This weekend is a significant moment in our football calendar." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. "We have managed to bring our team together and build something we're all immensely proud of."
He gestured towards our jerseys. "This sunday marks the start of our first match. This is neither the Seoul Youth Cup or the K-League International Cup." Coach Park stated, pausing for effect, ensuring his next words would resonate deeply. "But for us, it might as well be. It represents the same things; an opportunity for growth, recognition, and unity."
His pause this time felt more profound than just for emphasis. He looked straight at me.
"I am appointing Cha Jae-il as the captain for this sunday's opening game and, if the boy accepts, for the entirety of the season."
A burst of applause rang out.
Coach Park's eyes were darkened by the shadow of his cap.
The assistans were all enthused, clapping the hardest of everyone.
I merely nodded. Nothing new. Just another step in the same old routine.
Sung Hynwoo patted my back with a big smile on his face. I had become a 'bro' of sorts to this boy, though the feeling was mostly unilateral.
"Yes! You've earned this, bro! Congrats!" Sung Hyunwoo beamed.
"Thanks." I said back to him with an amicable smile.
As the noise started to settle, the other players returned their attention to Coach Park.
"Get ready. It's time to show everyone out there the potential of FC Seoul Youth Academy." Coach Park added as the final note, then ushered us out onto the field.
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)13 — The First Match II
I studied my jersey. It bore the familiar logo, a deep shade of red with black stripes, and the proud lettering of the club's name: FC Seoul.
I put it on with an air of casual professionalism. No nerves. No anxiety. It felt just like another training day—only, this time, we'd face an opponent rather than the familiar faces of our usual training squad.
My teammates didn't seem to share my relaxed demeanor.
I fastened the captain's armband, ensuring its fit was snug on my bicep. Just in time as Coach Park and his entourage of assistants swept inside the locker room. He didn't say much, just a simple nod and some words of encouragement.
It did little to boost some of the nervous kids' morale, but it was better than nothing, I supposed.
"Time to go, lads." Coach Park called out, his voice firm.
And we all followed him out.
The match was to be held at ten in the morning, and it would last roughly forty minutes. Not exactly enough to get a good read on how my teammates would play against a live opposition, but enough to showcase the basics.
The sun, high in the sky, shone down with an almost oppressive warmth.
"There aren't many spectators." Sung Hyunwoo commented, a bit sourly.
He was right. All I could see was a smattering of parents and relatives. The only thing that stood out in this sea of casual watchers were the cameras, mostly for the club's promotional material.
"Guess it's better than an empty stadium." I remarked.
Not that I minded either way; I preferred playing in quiet environments anyway.
However, a streak of blonde, and a tiny waving arm caught my attention. And there, in the front row of a section near the pitch, I spotted her.
Mia.
I thought she was busy and couldn't make it.
Yet now there she was, in the stands.
She gave me a radiant smile, saying something that was clearly lost due to the distance, but the way she flicked and flaunted that freshly dyed hair told me all I needed to know.
And it made me wonder. 'Why?'
Was she doing this on purpose? Was she trying to mess with me? Or was this her way of showing support? But even that didn't add up.
I didn't know how to feel about this, honestly.
It felt weird.
And heart-warming, at the same time. How contrasting. I wrenched my gaze away.
A brief warm-up session ensued. I stole a ball from the bag and juggled my way closer to the other half of the pitch.
The team that faced us, a collection of unfamiliar faces from a club that I couldn't recognize at all, looked determined, and perhaps even more anxious than my own team.
I could see the nervous shuffling, the restless jiggling of legs, the occasional glance at the stands. These were kids, no different from the ones around me, all grappling with their own pre-match jitters.
As I observed them, my thoughts were drawn back to a time in another life, where the stadium roared and the stakes were infinitely higher, and I was just a man in the middle of it all, dealing with his own bouts of nerves and self-doubt.
I caught the gaze of a boy from the opposing team. Tall, for his age. Good posture. Too clean—hair gelled, socks pulled up too neatly. He walked like a prince. One of those kids who'd never been tackled on concrete or learned to play barefoot in the rain.
He stared at me too long. I stopped juggling and rolled the ball under my foot.
"You the captain?" He asked, nodding at my armband.
I tilted my head. "Yeah." I looked at his arm; no armband.
His grin widened, eyes narrowing as if he'd found something interesting.
"I saw that girl in the stands earlier." He said, languidly. I already didn't like the tone. "Long blonde hair. Pretty eyes. Is she your sister?"
"..."
I merely stared at him, curious to see where he was going with this.
"That's a shame. For you. I mean." He said, a smirk etching its way onto his face. "I could take good care of her, you know." His wink was obnoxious, the insinuation clear. Kids these days—were they really this bold, or was this just how the world worked now? Given his age, it was probably just a clumsy attempt to get under my skin.
Still, some lines don't get crossed without consequence.
I stared at him, blankly, for a second longer than I needed to.
Then I smiled.
"You talk like that again..." I said, voice quiet. "And I won't embarrass you on the field. I'll humiliate you in front of your parents."
His smile stiffened as I walked off.
'That piece of shit…'
"Alright, team. Huddle up!" Coach Park called.
Our group coalesced, each of us looking towards him with a mix of excitement and nerves.
"I want you to focus. Focus on the game. Focus on the tactics. Remember what we've practiced." Coach Park started.
I could see a few nods, a few uncertain glances, and even a few determined faces.
"You've done the work, so go out there and give them a good fight, yeah?" He finished, adjusting his cap.
"Yeah!" Came a chorus of enthusiastic voices. Some more, some less so.
Coach Park's attention then turned to me. "Cha Jae-il. Are you ready?"
"I am, coach." I said simply.
"Then lead the way." Coach Park said with a small gesture towards the center of the pitch, where the other team was already gathering.
A quiet nod was my reply.
The team parted, allowing me to pass through and take the center of our formation, right in the middle. "Line up, guys. The game is starting." I said, nonchalantly.
With the team in position and the opponents in line across from us, the atmosphere took a more serious turn.
I caught that cocky kid's eyes one more time. I smiled—now, how to demoralize that motherfucker even further? Ah, I know.
A single, piercing whistle cut through the tension and the ball was in play.
Sung Hyunwoo passed the ball to me.
The ball rolled in my direction. Clean, quick, as if Hyunwoo knew exactly what I wanted.
He didn't, but I appreciated the obedience.
I took one step forward, let the ball slide the outside of my right boot, and let it ride with me.
Their midfield hadn't even shifted yet. That piece of shit—our dear prince of hair gel—was jogging up, still grinning like the game was a formality.
That was his first mistake.
I didn't bother dribbling. No flair. No flashy step-overs or samba bullshit. Just one glance up.
The keeper was slightly off his line. Their defense was still climbing, slowly.
Second mistake.
The ball was still bouncing slightly from the pass, not even settled yet. But I didn't care.
I leaned in and smashed it.
A full strike. Laces. Midfield.
The ball soared.
It sliced through the air with a whistle of its own, carrying weight and a lifetime of muscle memory behind it.
The opposing keeper—short for a goalie, maybe nine at most—backpedaled like a cartoon character, his arms flailing, legs a second behind his brain.
Too late.
The ball dipped and slammed into the top left corner.
And then the net rippled.
Goal.
No roar. No announcers shouting my name. Just the stunned murmur of parents who'd looked away for a second and missed it. And one very loud "WHOO!" from Hyunwoo, somewhere behind me.
I didn't celebrate. I turned back, slow and calm.
That kid stood frozen in midfield, jaw slack. His smirk now a crooked frown.
I passed him as I walked back to position.
"Thought I'd warm up the crowd." I said casually, just loud enough for him to hear.
He blinked, his mouth still trying to decide whether to talk or eat grass.
"Keep watching." I added. "You might learn something."
Back in my half, Hyunwoo jogged over, grinning like a fool. "Bro—what the hell was that?"
"A shot."
"From midfield?!"
I shrugged. "They left me space."
He laughed. "You're built different, man. Like… scary different."
"Thanks, Hyunwoo." I patted him on the back, which seemed to energize the boy.
I caught the slightly widened eye of Coach Park from the shade of his cap, before he lowered it until it couldn't be seen again. The assistants were literally frozen mid-gasp.
Once the horde of over excited boys finished swarming me, the match restarted. The opposing team's morale hit rock bottom, going all the way underground.
On the other hand, my own team's confidence had soared to the high heavens. I probably didn't even have to lift a foot now. Then again, I probably should, shouldn't I?
I still had to prove a point.
I didn't think I'd be so petty even in this life, but oh well. Shit happens. Especially if you're a seven year old. And especially if you're me, it'd seem.
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RE: KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY (SECRET CLASS)14 — The First Match III (Conclusion)
There was an uneasy look on most spectating parents' faces. They had expected a close game. They had come to watch their kids put in their best efforts. Instead, they were watching a massacre. A slaughter. An absolute embarrassment of their children. There was a supportive cheer after that ridiculous first goal—after all, the kids were giving it their all.
But then the second one hit. And the third. And the fourth.
That's when the murmurs started, the looks turned sour, and the cheers became awkward clapping.
Because, at this point, it was no longer about their kids doing their best. It was about a single child doing the best. It was about the other kids being left in the dust, being outclassed and outmatched by a kid who didn't seem to belong on the same pitch. And that, in their eyes, was unfair.
A seven year old child, scoring six goals, dribbling around the other team like they weren't even moving, and making it seem effortless, wasn't just unfair.
It was impossible.
So, as the parents watched, as the assistants' expressions went from surprise to horror, the kids on the opposing team began to visibly despair. The coach for the opposing team looked on, his face a mask of resignation. He had no more tactics to offer, no more pep talks to give. He was helpless, standing on the sidelines of a game that was beyond him.
And the score kept rising. Not a steady rise, but a rapid, merciless accumulation.
I didn't even have the ball at my feet for the seventh. Hyunwoo was on the wing and I was in the center. He put in a good cross. I flicked it on.
Another kid, Kim Jee, was there at the back post. He nodded it in. Not the cleanest, but it went in. Kim was jumping around, yelling his head off, like he'd scored in a cup final.
And the game went on.
The eighth goal was a penalty.
I didn't take it. Kim Jee did. He wanted a second.
I didn't mind. The ball rolled into the net. I didn't even look at the net. My gaze was on that kid—the one who'd dared to speak of Mia like she was some kind of trophy to win.
"..."
The ninth goal was the culmination of their despair. The kickoff was a formality. The ball was passed back, then sideways, with no intent, no direction.
It was as if they were merely going through the motions.
The ball eventually found its way back to their central defender, a slightly taller boy who, until now, had at least tried to maintain some semblance of order. He looked up, saw me casually drifting into his zone, and his shoulders slumped.
He attempted a long, hopeful clearance, more a hoof than a pass, aimed vaguely downfield.
It was easily intercepted by one of our midfielders, who quickly laid it off to me just inside their half. The entire opposing team seemed to freeze. Their defenders backed off, creating a vast chasm of space in front of me. They weren't even trying to close me down anymore. They seemingly opted to create some sort of wall around the goalpost.
As if that would stop me.
I didn't even need to use any fancy dribbling. I took a few touches, advancing unchallenged towards their penalty area. The hair gel kid, who had drifted into a more central defensive position, made a token effort to step towards me, but there was no conviction in his movement.
His shorts were matted with grass and earth, a result of one too many unsuccessful slides.
I simply glided past him with a slight change of pace. Their goalkeeper, a picture of misery, stood rooted to his line. He looked small, defeated, and utterly alone. I didn't blast it. I didn't chip it. I just rolled the ball with precision into the bottom corner, an almost dismissive finish.
There were no cheers from our side this time. Just a heavy, profound silence from the stands, broken only by the distinct sound of a child on the opposing team starting to sob openly, his small body shaking.
Even Hyunwoo and my other teammates offered no celebration, just turned and walked back towards the center circle.
By the end of the first half, it was 10-0. Ten fucking nil. The other team hadn't even managed a shot on target. They'd given up trying. The kids were in tears. Some were angry. Some were just staring blankly, their spirit extinguished.
The piece of shit prince, who'd tried to taunt me about Mia, was now sitting on the grass near his own goal, head in his hands, his perfectly gelled hair dishevelled. Good.
The halftime whistle shrilled, a mercy for the vanquished.
Coach Park met us as we trooped off, his face unreadable beneath the brim of his cap. He didn't offer praise, nor criticism. He simply watched, his gaze lingering on the desolate figures of the opposing team being led away by their beleaguered coach. The murmurs from the handful of parents had died down, replaced by an uncomfortable, heavy silence.
Even Mia's usual exuberance was tempered; she was watching, a complex expression on her face.
As our team gathered around the water cooler, an almost reverent quiet enveloped me. My teammates, still buzzing from the one-sided demolition, kept stealing glances at me, a mixture of awe and something akin to fear in their eyes.
Perhaps, I overdid it a little. I had to admit it—but just because I could freely admit it, didn't mean I was about to apologize for the chasm in skill, nor that they hadn't thoroughly earned every digit on that scoreboard.
Coach Park finally walked over, his footsteps measured on the artificial turf. He motioned for me to step aside with him, away from the others.
xXx
Coach Park's POV:
"Jae-il…" He began, his voice low. "You've shown us more than enough today." His eyes, when they met Jae-il's, were serious. "The score… it speaks for itself."
Jae-il nodded, his expression calm. He knew what was coming. It was the logical, the only sensible, course of action.
"For the second half." Coach Park continued, his gaze drifting towards the other team's dejected huddle. "I'm going to take you off." He paused, letting the words settle. "It's not a punishment, son. Far from it. You've been exceptional."
He then elaborated, his points sharp and clear. "First, out of respect. These are children, Jae-il. There's a line between competition and humiliation. We crossed it about seven goals ago. Continuing like this serves no one, especially not them. Their confidence is shattered."
Jae-il's gaze followed Park's. He saw the slumped shoulders, the tear-streaked faces. He'd been on the giving end of such defeats many times, but rarely against opponents so utterly outmatched from the first whistle.
"Second." Park went on, "Is for your own development. This… this isn't a challenge for you. Playing at this level, against this opposition, you risk developing habits that won't serve you when you face real competition. You need to be pushed, to adapt, to solve problems. Today, there were no problems for you to solve."
Jae-il understood that perfectly. The game had become a glorified training drill against moving cones.
"And third." Coach Park concluded, "I need to see the others. With you on the pitch, the game revolves around you. It's difficult to truly assess how the rest of the team functions, how they react under pressure, or how they create opportunities without your direct intervention. This is a youth academy; my job is to develop all of them, not just witness a one-man show, however brilliant."
He looked at Jae-il, awaiting a reaction.
Jae-il met his coach's gaze, a flicker of that unnerving maturity in his purple eyes. "I understand, Coach. Completely." There was no disappointment in his voice, no petulance. Just a calm acceptance of an undeniable truth. He'd made his statement. The message had been delivered, loud and clear. "It's the right call."
A small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped Coach Park. He'd half-expected some resistance, some youthful ego, but Cha Jae-il was, as always, an enigma. He clapped a hand on the boy's small shoulder. "Good. Get some rest. You've earned it."
As Jae-il walked towards the bench, the parents from the opposing team watched him. Their expressions were no longer hostile, but filled with a weary, almost grudging respect, and an undeniable sense of relief.
Their children wouldn't have to endure another twenty minutes of being systematically dismantled by the small boy with the number 9.
The boy who, in his short years, played football like a man who'd spent a lifetime on the pitch. A man who'd seen, experienced, and conquered it all, yet somehow found himself in a child's body, playing against children who were not even worthy of being called beginners.
A boy who was not a boy. A child who was not a child. An entity who defied all logical explanation, a living contradiction that the world was not yet ready to understand or explain.
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